


Fall In Ecstasy

by 51stCenturyFox



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bonding, Knotting, M/M, Slash, non-mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 08:25:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/51stCenturyFox/pseuds/51stCenturyFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were...things on the internet. Most of them, well, made Steve realize that though people today seemed to be more accepting of differences, being an Omega or an Alpha wasn’t something you talked about unless you started up a website and made people give you their credit card number first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall In Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

> I read some Omegaverse fic recently and thought...well, that's a really fascinating way to get characters (desperately horny) into bed (and stuck) together (repeatedly).
> 
> This story has a different scenario than the standard trope -- here, pretty much everyone is a Beta and Omegas and Alphas are genetically very rare and part of a taboo subculture. If you're into the trope, I'd love to know what you think of this take on it.

Steve hadn’t thought that this could happen to him now. He was supposed to be a regular fellow, like 99.999% of the other guys in the world.

He should have known that he’d never be a regular fellow.

Still, why now? He’d fought in a war. He’d been frozen for decades and thawed out, coped with losing everything, battled deadly villains, moved into Stark Tower and finally felt settled, secure even, like there was someplace he belonged and...

Oh.

Nobody knew, before, except for his own parents, of course. It was genetic. He hadn’t even told Bucky. He just...hadn’t wanted his best buddy to look at him like that, like he was some kind of freak.

So he could almost pretend he wasn’t _one of those_. Someone, who couldn’t possibly have known, had called him one once and Steve had mopped the sidewalk with him, drawing out strength he hadn't known he had.

It would have kept him out of the Army in the first place, if any of the recruiting boards had gotten around to asking and if he would have told the truth if they had (no). Steve was weak, undersized, and asthmatic, and the Army wasn’t that desperate. He was 4-F material anyway, and that, well, It was a pretty rare mutation. Nobody even tested for it anymore.

But Dr Erskine had, the day before Steve was to be remade into a super-soldier.

“Does it make a difference?” Steve asked, hating the desperate, plaintive tone in his voice, fearing the answer. He might have heart and courage, but Omega genetics? That alone would be enough to disqualify him.

“I think we can do something about that,” the doctor had assured him kindly. “Not that there’s anything wrong with the way nature made you, Steven.”

And of course he’d died, Dr Erskine had. Steve hadn’t really gotten around to asking if the serum had worked on his...nature before that had happened. 

He’d heard the snickers, back in the Army. _“Yeah, oh boy, I thought she had to be an Omega hussy in heat for sure, the way she wanted my--”_

“That’s enough,” Steve would say, voice sharp, and since he was commanding officer, they waited until he was out of earshot.

Either the fix didn’t take when he’d had the serum and the Vita-Ray process or it had worn off or he was finally in a situation where he was no longer under battle stress.

So here he was, rare as a hen’s tooth, in his fancy apartment in a modern high-rise, practically going out of his mind because for the first time, he was in heat.

In heat.

Not that it mattered anyway; Alphas were rare too. Steve would just lock himself away. He had a refrigerator full of food, books -- he couldn’t concentrate very well at the moment, truth be told -- but he had a television with all sorts of movies on it and baseball to take his mind off this, and he’d suffer through it. He’d been through worse.

He doesn’t have a bond with anyone, anyway; he didn’t think he ever would.

 

These days... Steve remembers sitting at Tony’s bar last month as Natasha and Thor leaned forward on the sofa, rapt, watching some HBO Real Sex thing on Alpha/Omega culture like it was a wildlife documentary.

He’d purposefully ignored the droning of the announcer, talking about popular myths, and _the misconception that bonding takes place instantly among strangers something something about fitness and ‘worthiness’ and optimal something very, very explicit_ because he was definitely not listening and now he sure as hell couldn’t finish his grilled cheese sandwich.

Tony sauntered in then, reminded Thor his favorite program was on and switched the channel, fixing himself a drink.

“They don’t teach schoolkids this stuff, do they?” Steve asked, angling his head towards the television.

Tony lowered his voice, leaning in. “You know Ancient Aliens is bullshit, right, Sno-Cap?”

“ _Mostly_ bullshit,” Thor replied from the sofa. “And I do not care.”

“I mean the uh...” Steve pushed his plate away, “the Alpha/Omega stuff.”

“Yeah...no. It’s not something politely discussed in public either, just so you’re aware.” Tony had looked uncomfortable and Steve nodded quickly, his palms itching.

 

There were...things on the internet. Most of them, well, made Steve realize that though people today seemed to be more accepting of differences, being an Omega or an Alpha wasn’t something you talked about unless you started up a website and made people give you their credit card number first.

 

So, Steve assures himself, by Tuesday this pitiful and desperate feeling will pass, and hopefully he’d be busy avenging and it wouldn’t happen again for a long time. Or maybe there was some modern drug he could take to suppress the hormones, now that he knew he needed it. They had pills for everything these days -- restless legs and soft dicks and hair loss.

He wraps an arm around his waist and kicks off the bedcovers, drifting in and out into a half-sleep, wanting something he can’t have, doesn’t even want to name.

But the rapping at the door won’t stop. And there’s a buzzer, and a doorbell, or a doorbell buzzer. Steve fists his hands into his sides. Why won’t they just go away?

He struggles to his feet and walks, wrapping a sweat-dampened sheet around himself, to peer through the monitor on the wall next to the door. It’s Stark. Steve presses the “speak” square on the screen.

“I’m here, but I’m...” he manages. “I don’t feel well.”

“Nobody’s seen you around, Rogers.” Tony’s saying. “You don’t answer your calls. Wait a minute; you ‘don’t feel well?’ Since when do you get sick?”

“I ate something bad,” Steve lies, his voice weak. “Some bad clams?” 

Tony gives the camera a dubious look. “That...sucks. Hey, look, let me in. You sound awful. I could get a doctor.”

“Can’t,” Steve rasps. “I’ll be fine in a day or two,” It wouldn’t matter if he let Tony in; it wasn’t like food poisoning couldn’t leave him looking this rotten -- shaky, sweaty, feverish, and the odds of Tony figuring out what was really the matter were pretty slim -- but he doesn’t want anyone to see him like this. Ever. “Could be the flu, too. Could be...contagious,” Steve fakes a weak cough.

“I won’t get it. Open sesame, seriously, or I’m calling an ambulance,” Tony says, looking concerned.

Feeling like he’s on fire (why had he even dragged himself out of bed?), Steve presses the interface again, but too hard. He grasps at the monitor unit quickly, trying to steady himself, but pulls it out of the wall with a terrifically loud crunch before he slumps to the floor.

“Fuck this,” Steve hears Tony say, “JARVIS, allow entry,” 

Steve’s vision swims as Tony pushes the door open and barges in, and makes to kneel over him before taking two steps back, a shocked, dazed look on his face, and Steve screws his eyes shut, feeling powerless as a fresh and unstoppable wave overcomes him.

It’s all suddenly so much _worse_. Steve feels the effects of the heat spread up his torso, pinking his chest again, as his glands betray him, a hot rush soaking his thighs. It can’t be missed.

“Oh my god,” Tony’s saying, a hand shielding his face before he runs it through his hair and looks up at the ceiling. “Oh god, you’re...”

Steve wants a pit to open up in the floor so he can just roll into it and die. It isn’t enough that he’s miserable, suffering, _in heat_ , but having Tony see him like this, having him know...it’s too much. He’s brutally aware of how this must look, how he must reek of pheromones.

“Come on, buddy,” Tony says through clenched teeth. “Let’s get you off the floor. Can you move?”

Steve shakes his head, then nods, once. He lets Tony pull him into a sitting position, then shuffles up, holding the sodden sheet to his bare skin the best he can. Tony wedges his arm around Steve’s back -- the touch of his fingers burning him -- and helps him walk back to his bedroom, then edges him over to the bed, watching as he falls onto his side, clutches a pillow, and lets his eyes close. He feels weak, leaden.

Tony’s voice is tense and shaky. “We probably should call a doctor, I think? I don’t think meds work when somebody’s already...”

“No,” Steve waves a hand. “No. It’ll...stop.” He already feels slightly better, stretched out on his side on the ruined bed. He’s still flushing with waves of heat, but at least he doesn’t have to concentrate on keeping himself upright. He squints at the sound of Tony somewhere else in the apartment, banging doors, and sees him return with his arms full of fresh sheets and a stack of folded towels.

Tony lifts his chin. “Roll,” he orders, and Steve winces, moving as best he can to the other end of the bed, and Tony gathers the sweat-and-fluid-dampened sheet beneath him and pulls it off the bed. He smooths down a fresh sheet and a few towels, then nods at him to move back before going around the other side of the bed and pulling the linen taut. Tony drops a clean sheet over him and then takes away the crumpled one, and disappears with the dirty laundry. Steve idly wonders who does Tony’s laundry; he’s never seen a housekeeper around. Maybe he has robots for that. Steve laughs into the crook of his arm, almost delirious.

When Tony comes back, he has a bottle of water, and throws it to Steve on the bed.

“Thank you,” Steve gasps gratefully, dragging a folded towel between his thighs and clamping them together, as if it would help much.

“Sure,” Tony murmurs. “I’m going now.”

Steve pauses. “Could you stay, just for a while?” he asks, watching as a conflicting set of expressions crosses Tony’s face. “I feel...” his face screws up and tears sting his eyelids, and the hell with it. He’s already embarrassed beyond belief anyway.

Tony takes a deep breath from the doorway, hand pressing to his own chest. “I shouldn’t. I’ve never, uh, been around...”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll be fine. I know it’s...” Steve gestures at himself, wants to say _freakish, disgusting, pathetic._ but the words won’t come and he gives up. “I’ve never been through this before. The serum was supposed to...and I guess it didn’t. I’m a little, uh...” he shrugs. _Fucking scared._

If the others find out -- if SHIELD does -- would they make an exception, or would they just stop relying on him? Steve shuts his eyes.

Tony hesitates. “Yeah, I...I’ll hang out,” he says, and he comes in, shuts the door, and sits on the chair in the corner.

Steve smiles at him weakly. “I didn’t know it would be this bad. The way it feels.”

“How bad is it?” Tony says. He’s leaning forward, his hair falling over his brow. “It’s a biological imperative, I mean, I know how I feel right now, but I don’t...”

Tony attempts a wry smile, but it looks pained, and Steve shuts his eyes. Sure, Omegas are a curiosity, lots of people have a thing for... then his head snaps up. “Huh?”

“I know what you mean,” Tony says, louder. “I didn’t think it would be like this either.”

Steve stares at him, uncomprehendingly, then sees, really _sees_ Tony, the sweat popping along his forehead, the white of his knuckles as he grips the arms of his chair. The way his knee is jerking like he has a tic.

“I mean, all I want to do is...” Tony trails off and looks away, and Steve’s breath catches. “But it’s gotta be a lot worse for you, I think. Right?”

“You’re...”

“An Alpha.” Tony says through gritted teeth. “Guess you moved into the wrong building, huh? It’s probably my _fault_.”

Steve’s breathing is labored. “No,” he manages to say. “One in a half-million or something, isn’t it? And...it hasn’t happened before. Aren’t there drugs? You don’t..?”

“No,” Tony says, his face distorting. “Yes. There are, but I haven’t bothered. It’s not like Omegas are thick on the ground anyway. There are...communes and things for people who don’t want the suppressants, but I... hippie fertility love-ins. Commitment. Not really my thing.”

“You need to _leave_ ,” Steve says forcefully, feeling more lucid than he has in hours, even though Tony is so close. So close he could make everything better, just by...he feels his gut clench at the thought.

Tony’s shaking his head slowly.

“Yes. You should go and stay away from me,” he breathes, shifting his hips, feeling them buck almost against his will, the towel now warm, soaking his thighs again. “I want you to go.”

Tony looks at him. Waits. “Do you?”

And Steve doesn’t. He wants Tony to take him here, _hold him down on the bed, spread his legs apart, push into him where he’s so hot and wet and needy, stretch and fill him, knot. He wants Tony’s Alpha knot so badly, his seed._ He groans into the pillow, frustrated.

“I’m not a wild animal, you know,” Tony snaps. “Or a loose cannon. Despite what the media and practically everyone else says about me, I do actually possess some fucking self-control.”

And then Steve realizes what he’s saying. Tony’s offering to sit here, across from his bed, and bring him water and fresh towels and help him through this. Without breeding him. He doesn’t think he can take it.

He knows he can _insist_ again that Tony leave. Order it. And he’ll go. And in three days this will be over and he can get the suppressants into his system before the cycle happens again, and it’ll be fine. Tony probably knows a doctor that can be trusted -- It can stay their little secret; Alphas were throwbacks too, people thought they were...unable to stop themselves.

But Tony can. He’s saying he can, white knuckles or not. Steve believes him, now that he’s seen what Tony can do when the chips are down.

And knowing that just makes it exponentially worse. “Please, Tony,” Steve moans.

Tony’s not giving him anything. He just looks vexed, concerned.

“Please,” Steve repeats, his hand gripping the edge of the mattress. “I need you to...”

“Stay? Go? I’ll do whatever you want me to,” Tony promises, raking his teeth over his lip. “Maybe you need food?”

Steve shudders. “Come here,” he whispers, holding out his hand.

“Better not; I can stick around, but I’d better...keep my distance.”

“What if I don’t want you to?” Steve says, closing his eyes and his fists, knowing he’d be blushing furiously if he wasn’t already flushed with arousal.

“That’s just, it’s hormones. We’re better than that, aren’t we?” Tony replies harshly. “I’ve fought to...” and he breaks off. He’s panting, and Steve just looks at him, and there must be something in his face because Tony stands.

“It’s bad luck, sorry,” Tony says softly. “I had palladium poisoning, once. It messed me up and I’m shooting blanks anyway. Maybe it would just make it worse for you. I probably can’t even knot; it’s never happened, so...” Tony rubs the heel of his hand over one eye. “I don’t know what you...”

Steve is sure Tony’s going to walk out then, but he doesn’t. He stands there, breathing heavily, and he knows that he's waiting to be told it's okay.

Steve lifts his head and looks into his eyes, steeling his voice. “Tony, I need...” _to belong to you_ “...I need you to be of use.”

...and Tony’s yanking down his jeans, struggling and nearly tripping because he’s forgotten to take his shoes off first, and leaning on the bed to do that, cursing at his fucking stupid shoelaces, and Steve’s so, so _relieved_.

“Please,” he whispers, and Tony’s there on the bed behind him, stripping off his own shirt one-handed, pulling the sheet down the rest of the way, running his fingers down Steve’s back, lower, into the crevice of his ass. Steve slides onto his stomach and arches his back, lifts up, opens his legs wider, and Tony’s groaning from above, both of his hands on him.

“Oh god,” Steve breathes, as Tony’s fingers move against him again, wet and slippery. Steve pushes his hands against the mattress, leans back, bending his knees, giving Tony better access out of pure instinct. He can feel Tony holding him open, and he’s breathless, shaking with need.

“Jesus, you’re so _wet,_ ” Tony says, dragging a thumb along the puckered edge of Steve’s dripping opening, and he should feel embarrassed, but Tony sounds impressed, like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

He pushes his thumb inside slowly, to the first knuckle, then all the way, and Steve groans, his arms shaking, as he pushes back. He needs more, and Tony obliges, two fingers jamming inside, pumping, and when he pulls them out, Steve backs up, chasing the sensation.

Then Tony’s pushing at Steve’s flank. “Turn,” he orders, and Steve does, flipping on the bed, his legs falling open around Tony’s thighs, and Tony scrunches a towel under his ass, puts his fingers back down again, winds them together, fucks Steve with them, and he can’t help but bear down hard, head thrown back. Tony pulls his fingers out and trails them, sopping wet, along the inside of Steve’s quivering thigh.

Steve lifts his head, but Tony’s face is down; he’s concentrating, lining up, and he finally feels the blunt tip of Tony’s dick against him and he shoves in...it’s so smooth, so easy, as he knew it would be.Tony has his hand hooked under Steve’s knee and he’s fucking into him sloppy and hard, jarring him, making the bed shake, and it feels so, so...

“Still with me?” Tony asks, eyes on his, Steve’s leg on his shoulders, and his hand comes down and strokes along his jaw. “Is it good?” he asks, and Steve nods, squeezes, and Tony grunts hard, throws his head back, grabs at his legs, hard enough to bruise, and shoves into him faster and harder.

It’s more than good. It’s amazing.

Steve’s never been fucked before. Not like this. He’s been with a few women, but he’s never...this...and to be in heat and to be _taken by an Alpha_...he hadn’t even let himself think about what it could be like.

Tony’s sure strokes suddenly slow, and then he’s groaning, coming, letting Steve’s weary leg drop, as he falls to his hands, leaning in and then he stops moving. Steve looks up at him and Tony licks his lips, bends, and kisses him, sweetly, licking into his mouth, before leaning up again and backing to pull away, still hard, and how is that...

Tony digs his thumb into Steve’s thigh for leverage and he’s shaky himself, and when he pulls out he’s gripping the base of his cock, a look of shock on his face, as he desperately pushes Steve to his side.

“Move,” Tony orders, grinding his teeth. 

Steve shifts and Tony’s spooning him, instantly sliding into his slick channel again, filling him, and oh, even thicker...Steve can feel it. Tony is knotting, knotting inside him, stretching him, and it feels so good. It feels _right_. Steve can’t help arching his spine and pushing back to meet Tony’s thrusts, and Tony’s grasping at his waist hard enough to bruise and groaning as he shoves in and then stills.

The room is dead quiet except for the sounds of their breathing.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve says, wanting and thankful, and all Tony does is nod; he feels the scrape of his whiskers against his shoulder, imagines he can feel the press of Tony’s arc device against his back.

Tony runs a hand over Steve’s chest, slides it over a nipple and pinches the sensitive peak, and Steve bucks a little, feels the thick knot move deeper inside him slightly, and gasps. Tony hums into his back, skims his fingertips along Steve’s stomach, down to his cock; he’s still hard himself, almost painfully so, and he sucks in a frantic breath at the feel of Tony’s hand on him.

“Locked in,” Tony murmurs softly into his shoulder. “I couldn’t pull out now if I wanted to,” he says, still stroking him gently.

Steve’s silent at this, though he can feel himself shake a little, and Tony goes on, sounding awed. He didn’t think seen-it-done-it Tony Stark could sound like that. “You feel so good. So good. I can’t...I can’t believe. I didn’t know...”

Tony’s hand tightens, working him harder, working him _perfectly_ , and with his thick knot buried inside him, the way he smells, it won’t take long. Tony’s other hand slides under the edge of his shoulder, reaches up to smooth along Steve’s parted lips, and he licks out at his fingers, hearing Tony inhale harshly, and sucks one, then two, into his mouth.

Steve can feel every inch of Tony, deep inside him, feel himself getting even wetter as Tony makes shallow little hip-thrusts, a surge of wet slick.

“Fuck,” Tony bites out. “ _Fuck_. You love this, love my cock, don’t you?”

Steve nods frantically, sucking harder. He does. He loves this. He thinks about the way he was cursing earlier, hating himself and the way this felt, but it was all worth it for... and Tony’s other hand is still sliding over the head of his dick, slicking over the pre-come and back and he’s feeling another urge bank and build. Steve bucks his hips hard, almost convulsing as he stripes the sheet with come, squeezing the knot inside him because he can’t help it, feeling Tony shuddering into him, jamming his knot even deeper against his prostate, the fresh wave of throbbing and rush of warmth as Tony’s seed fills him. He whimpers around Tony’s fingers before Tony eases them gently away and strokes his cheek.

Tony groans into his shoulders, presses a kiss there as his arm tightens around him, and Steve tips his head back.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Why are you thanking _me_?” Tony asks, incredulous. “This is...ah, so...”

Tony Stark, at a loss for words.

And Steve knows he won’t be able to talk about this himself, after, it’s too much, but Tony’s buried deep inside him and he’s facing away, so it’s fine. “I've never felt anything so good.”

Tony shifts experimentally, pulling back, and Steve cries out. “Does that hurt?” Tony scrubs a palm soothingly along Steve’s hip and captures his hand in his own, knits their fingers together.

“No,” Steve says quietly, “...but...” and it doesn’t hurt, exactly, but he feels a deep ache at the thought of Tony pulling away from him; they both know it’s not time yet, that Tony’s still locked into him, his knot won’t go down for a while. It’s not like either of them have an idea when, but when it’s time, they’ll know. Their bodies have always known.

“You,” Tony says, into his flesh,”are _mine_.”

And Steve can’t deny that. Doesn’t want to. He squeezes Tony’s hand tighter. _Yes._

“Good thing I didn’t have plans,” Tony says. “Well, they weren’t important plans. Okay, they were semi-important.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve replies.

“Hey. Hey, no, no. Stop it. I don’t have regrets, either. You, this...” he winds his other arm around Steve’s waist. “I’m cancelling everything. I’m spending the next few days fucking you senseless and I’m buying another bed when this is over, because this one is _done_.”

Steve laughs, blissed-out. “Okay,” he says, and Tony’s arm tightens around him. “Yes to all of that.”

He’s exhausted, and he thinks he drifts off, sleeps a little, only stirring when Tony’s hands move to his hips again, and he’s pulling out gently -- the knot’s subsided -- and Tony lets out a tense breath.

“You good?” He asks again.

Steve nods; he’s no longer hot and aching with desperation, to his relief. He feels almost like himself again; he moves to sit up, but Tony stills him with his hand and slides his fingers down, opening him up, pushing slowly into his wet core. He’s still dripping, with the fluids, and now Tony’s mingled in, but the touch feels good. Soothing. He eases himself back to the mattress.

“Sore?”

“No,” Steve says, and he isn’t. He lets Tony prod him carefully until he’s satisfied and then he rolls over, stretches, watches Tony survey his body hungrily, like he owns it, and Steve guesses that he does, now.

“Come on, Soldier of incredibly good fortune,” Tony says. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

A ham and cheese omelette and two huge mugs of hot coffee later (Tony checking his email and firing off cancellations in between kissing him and touching him as he searches for butter and procures forks) and they’re freshly showered and sitting on fresh sheets, Tony wrapped in Steve’s blue robe, Steve in a towel. Tony’s done laundry, and Steve was inordinately pleased by that, leaning against the door frame, watching him transfer white sheets into the dryer and set the timer.

Tony crooks his head to the side. “Lie back and let me look at you.” Steve does, quirking an eyebrow.

“Goddamn,” Tony continues, staring at his bare chest, and Steve’s cock twitches. “What did I do in a past life to deserve this? Pull lepers out of housefires?”

Tony bends and flips back the towel, grasps his cock, licks a smooth, scorching stripe from base to tip, and takes Steve into his mouth. His hips judder forward and Tony’s mouth quirks into a smile around around him, then slides further, taking in more.

“Tony,” Steve breathes, and it’s all too intense -- he’s coming already, far too fast, and Tony is swallowing him whole, it feels like, Steve winds his fingers into Tony’s shower-damp hair and he sighs.

Then it comes on him again, a frantic wave, the heat. He whimpers, and Tony’s eyes open as he eases Steve’s cock out of his mouth, his knuckles drop below his balls and stroke and oh, Steve can feel the wet spreading, feel himself opening, ready.

Tony pulls him to his knees this time, sliding behind him, between his legs, gently teasing with his fingertips, _playing with him_.

“Stark,” Steve pants after a few moments, “I’m not above begging.” 

“Begging for what?” Tony asks, failing to sound anything close to innocent, but his voice is at once rough and tender.

“You,” Steve moans.

“You have me,” Tony says. “God, so bossy. You’re not going to want to have ten kids and live in a yurt and grow peaches or raise goats or anything, are you?”

“No.”

“We could get a really big aquarium.”

“I don’t want an aquarium. I want you inside me. Now.”

Tony groans at that, sounding almost primal, and pushes his fingers inside him, and Steve can _hear_ how wet he is.

“God, you are diabolically, unbelievably hot,” Tony marvels.

"You should probably fuck me again, then," Steve says.

So Tony does.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the lyrics to [Sometimes by Erasure](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gynvBs-bvJQ). And the video has a lot of...sheets in it. (I watched it _after_ writing this and LOL'ed.)


End file.
